


Folie à Deux

by teacuptempest (hopefulundertoness)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF, jacksepticeye - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Anti just wants the world to burn, But it's rad I promise, Dark is super possessive of Anti, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Dubious everything tbh these guys are fucked up, Eventual Smut, F/M, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Mark and Jack aren't Youtubers in this, Masochism, POV Alternating, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Psychological Torture, Sadism, Supernatural Elements, That would have been v hard to work with, The timeline is literally inside out when this is all done, This whole fic is some messed up shit, You Have Been Warned, fem reader - Freeform, i'm sorry lmao, weird timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 06:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefulundertoness/pseuds/teacuptempest
Summary: You, the reader, have been kidnapped and trapped in what appears to be an actual murder basement. Your captors? A sociopathic, charismatic man in a suit and a glitchy green-haired Irishman. Thus begins a night (or two? or three?) of endless teasing and torture, and maybe, just maybe, they'll let you out in one piece. Let the chaos ensue.





	1. head like a steel trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Thank you all so so so much for all the feedback!! I'm gonna update this every Friday (maybe earlier depending on how obsessive I get about editing) or so and I'm so psyched that y'all are liking it so far!! <3  
> So I SUCK at summaries, so apologies for that.  
> This story will be told in alternating POV/timeframes every chapter. It sounds a lot more confusing than it is, but I will be putting timestamps on every chapter so you can understand what's happening. I wanted to be able to tell a story fluidly but also give backstory. So as one timeline moves forward, the other moves backwards. It'll make SO MUCH MORE SENSE I'M SORRY.  
> Anyway, here we go! My first fic, please enjoy!!  
> -B

June 23, 2017 -- 1:14am

_ Good morning, sunshine. _

You awake with a start, panting. Cold sweat runs in rivers down your arms and forehead, soaking stray strands of hair. Your eyes are dry, burning, as if you fell asleep with your contacts in.

Wait--you did. God dammit, your eyes hurt.

You’re awake in a strange, dark room, with nary a hint to where you are. An attempt to dig for clues in your memory gains you nothing but static and fog. Well, it was worth a shot.

You’re sitting, on a hard, cold wooden dining chair, which provides excellent lumbar support, but your ass is starting to cramp up. For some reason, your ears are filled with a shrill, high pitched ringing--just loud enough to hurt, not loud enough to be heard by anyone else. That is, if anyone else was around. Likely tinnitus, you brush it off as. You attempt to move, but your hands, you find out, are tied tightly behind your back with a silky, expensive feeling necktie. A few well-meaning shakes and twists prove that you aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

Surrounding you is an expanse of darkness, not an inch of light leaking from any corner. You might as well be blindfolded, it would have had the same effect. The dark is suffocating, feeling like four walls crushing you at all sides, while you sit, helpless against their movements. Crushed.

“SOMEONE, ANYONE, HELP ME!” you scream, hoping for some sort of rescue. But your voice disintegrates into the blackness, and the room becomes as quiet as before. The ringing persists, burning holes in your eardrums; a constant, piercing pain.

Alas, you are thoroughly trapped, and more than thoroughly confused. How the hell did you get here? You rack your memory again for hints, clues, anything that could shed some light on what may be going on.

But nothing comes back to you. You are still literally and figuratively in the dark.

As the memories refuse to flood back, your level of panic rises. Your shouts become higher, cracking, more frantic. You struggle and squirm against your restraints, as useless at that may be.

“LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME--”

Your desperate pleas are interrupted by a swift opening and closing of a large door, followed by the distinctive tap of dress shoe heels on the concrete floor. You keep quiet, unsure if this stranger is friend or foe. The figure’s steps become louder, more pronounced. Closer. And then they stop. 

_ Click. _

The faint light of a hanging bulb reveals a man of vaguely Korean descent, with near-black hair falling in twisted shards across his forehead. He wears a fitted, perfectly tailored grey suit, with the first few buttons undone to show just a hint of the chiseled torso underneath. His eyes are dark pools, not even the white of an iris peeking through. Just pure onyx, and it’s endlessly unsettling, yet oddly familiar.

The man steps around you, clicking his tongue. He makes several unnecessary loops around you, just to assert his dominance over the situation. Over you. Around him is a looming, staticing black fog, just obvious enough to make him ominous. He isn’t quite all human, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything but bad intentions/

“Now, now, pet,” he purrs, not stopping his endless wide circles. “You do know it’s awfully rude to make such noise in another person’s home during such late hours? Tsk tsk, you could have woken the neighbors up. What a shame that would have been, could have ruined all of our fun.”

“You’re the one who trapped me down in your murder basement,” you spat, not charmed by this man’s suit or deep, soothing, seductive voice. He smirks at the term “murder basement”, and your irritation just increases. “I don’t fucking care if someone wakes up, let them! I want the FUCK out of here and--”

_ SLAP.  _ The man’s hand connects hard with your cheek. His flesh is as cold as the concrete floors beneath you. 

“Such a foul mouth! We’ll have to fill it with something more useful than such dirty language, won’t we?” He smirks, running a finger across your bottom lip, sweetly and seductively. Damn. If you weren’t completely terrified right now, you would be jumping on this guy. And you hate him for that, but you know he loves it. 

“I doubt you’ve met my...colleague,” he assumes, glancing over his shoulder. “Anti?”

He looks to the corner of the room where you now notice sits a green haired, smaller man, twitching and..almost glitching?...in the fetal position. He wears a ripped black t-shirt and (very) worn jeans, which are accompanied by a choker-like scar all along the middle of his neck. Looking closer, you notice that he is absolutely covered in various cuts, scars, and bruises. He also must be some unhuman being, as the air around HIM seems to be glitching like a faulty video game every time he moves.

The green-haired one giggles, a piercing, eardrum busting sound. “Heh,” he snickers. “Why the wait, Dark? We could just slice her up and be done with it.” His cackles become shriller, adding to the pain your poor eardrums have endured already this blasted night.

Dark grimaces at the sound, shaking his head harshly at the ground. With each shake the fog surrounding him grows darker, bigger, until the giggles from the corner of the room cease.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” he escalates, that deafening ringing in the air growing into a crescendo and piercing through the giggles. For a split second, you thought you could see his face morph into some terrifying scream, nearly like he sprouted a second, angrier head. For a man who comes across as so cool and calculating, Dark does have quite the temper.

He turns sharply to his friend. Colleague? Victim? You have no idea at this point. “I told you, Anti! This is an elegant operation. I’ll let you know when you’ll have your fun. For now? I run the show. Now, if you’d excuse me.” He straightens his suit coat, pivots, and briskly walks out of the basement, slamming the door behind him.

Anti rolls his eyes, that unnerving sneer never leaving his face. However, you do note a glimmer of fear. Is he trapped here too, like you? You shudder. What the hell is this place?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and yes, this work is titled after a French psychological term/Fall Out Boy album and the chapters are going to be titled after lyrics from said album. sue me)


	2. you're half-doomed, and i'm semi-sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events just prior to your capture. How did we get here?  
> And why is Dark so goddamn good at what he does?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KNOCK KNOCK MOTHERH*CKERS EARLY UPDATE. I couldn't wait to share this with you all so here it goes!  
> So this chapter takes place right before the events of chapter one. See what I mean by an inside out timeline?  
> That being said, I’ll put a handy little guide for actual chronology at the end if y’all wanna keep track.  
> Fair warning that this chapter has a brief perspective switch back to you, I’ll try not to do it again to keep the flow but it felt right in this instance.  
> Okay I’ll cut this short ENJOY~  
> -B

June 22, 2017 -- 9:24am

Anti is sipping coffee--black, five sugars--in the kitchen of Dark’s well-decorated LA apartment. He hears the faint sound of some news tragedy playing on some TV in the house and grimaces. Anti has never been a fan of the morning news--they never show the full, gory gloriousness of crash sites and murder scenes that  _ he  _ was interested in seeing. Only “condolences to the family of dearly departed blah blah blah.” Pitiful. He begins to hum to himself to occupy the morning silence with something other than “The sad scene today of blah blah blah” when he hears a scream and a glass shattering. 

“D-dark?” he calls inquisitively, placing his sugary coffee on the counter. “Everything okay, love?”

That question is answered by the distinctive sound of a hand punching through the drywall of the living room, followed by the ever-present ringing in the air growing more shrill by the second. Anti sighs and tries to remember if they have any more paintings in the apartment to cover up the new hole. There are a lot of holes in the walls of Dark’s classy apartment, either caused by Dark’s fist going through the wall in an angry rage, or Dark missing Anti’s face/chest/shoulder and hitting the wall instead.

“I’m growing RESTLESS, Anti,” growls Dark, storming into the kitchen, grim fog swirling in angry circles around him. His fists are clenched and bleeding from striking the wall, with shards of what looks like mirror sticking out of his thumb, but the pain only intensifies his anger, his hunger--a hunger and lust that can only be satiated by ceasing his boredness. And the way to do that? Good old-fashioned sociopathic torture. 

“ _ You _ promised me that we’d hunt again soon, and I’ve been waiting PATIENTLY for us to go out again.” He glares at Anti, his pools of obsidian staring bullet holes into Anti’s heart. He really knows just what strings to pull to get to his partner.

Anti glitches out briefly in guilt and shame. He did promise, yes. Anti had a hunger for killing and torturing too. But there was something about doing it with Dark that he didn’t enjoy as much. Dark was...picky, to say the least. Anti is happy slicing up the throat of any old Tom, Dick, or Harry and feeding their flesh to the dogs. Dark, however, needed his victims to be perfect. The sociopath’s game was manipulation, and his targets needed to be worthy of his time. Quality over quantity, which was the opposite philosophy for Anti. 

It was positively annoying at times, but Dark had a way of making his victims unravel at his feet without a single touch. Anti and Dark had only been working like this together for a few months, both having this dark lust inside that couldn’t be quenched, but Anti was constantly in awe of how his boyfriend/mentor worked.

He was simply merciless.

“I’m  _ bored,  _ we haven’t even used the room downstairs in weeks.” Dark stopped his rage   for a moment and lowered his voice to a gravel-filled whisper. “I need to fulfill my needs, my pet,” he breathes, stroking his lover’s cheek. “You know this.”

Anti is putty in Dark’s hands, but something about what he said threw him off.

The smaller man steps away, his cheek still cold from Dark’s touch. “Am  _ I  _ not fulfilling your needs well enough then?” snaps back Anti. His face glitches into a scream for a millisecond, eye flashing fluorescent. The air fizzes around him, as his temper not as easily controlled as Dark’s is. Anti is lightning; quick, striking, erratic. Dark is thunder; low, discreet, and foreboding, but can crash at any minute if the air is right.

Dark sighs, and lifts Anti’s chin to meet his eyes with a single, freezing finger. The Irishman calms in an instant. Damn that Dark.

The American man smirks ever-so-slightly. “My pet, you couldn’t if you wanted to.”

The other shoe drops.

“Now, put something sexy on and wash that silly green hair of yours. We’re going out tonight, and I need that intoxicating smile of yours.”

\--

10:20pm

The bar Dark chooses to hunt for victims is too mellow for Anti’s taste. Anti prefers the chaos of a blacklit nightclub, where his glitching and singular, neon eye is less out of place. Dark tends to choose places like this; classy, upscale hotel bars where the women wear pearls on their arms and the men wear women on theirs.

The two men sit down at a small, glass table in the middle of the room. Perfect for watching, they know. Dark smiles at Anti, and leans across the table, close enough so that the Irishman could hear.

“If you didn’t look so goddamn good in those tight little jeans, I would be angry at you for not dressing up,” criticized the dark-eyed man. Forever the fashion police. “That being said, take my suit jacket so you blend in better, and go find us someone to have fun with, huh? Check out the ravishing young woman in the red dress, my darling.” 

Anti twitches in jealousy. He hates when Dark makes those comments about other people. He pushes out from the table and begins to make his way over when Dark calls him back.

“Sunglasses are in the pocket, love,” he says with a wink. “Wouldn’t want to scare anyone away with that pretty little eye of yours.”

\--

10:34pm

You’re sitting at the hotel bar, slowly sipping a glass of honey whiskey on the rocks. Your eyes are fixated on the perfect round ice cubes (ice balls?) tinkling against the smooth glass. They’re melting quickly this hot June night, making your liquor dreadfully watered down. You drink faster.

Your crushed red velvet dress has been riding up all night, no matter what you do to fix it, and so you’ve decided that this bar stool will be your permanent home for the evening. It’s comfortable enough and away from the crowds near the center of the bar, so you’re content.

You’re at this rich person’s wonderland of a hotel for an academic conference you were invited to by a professor friend who’s giving a lecture. The greatest names in academia are all giving talks on “organizational learning” or something of the sort, but you couldn’t be less interested. You love your friend and all, but glitzy, glam hotels and hours-long lectures were never your thing.

Hey, at least there’s alcohol.

You were so lost in watching those little ice spheres melt away that you didn’t notice a man in all black slide into the stool directly to the right of you.

“Bartender?” he shouts over the bar at a tired-looking twenty-something in an apron. “Jack and Coke, thank you lad.”

Your eyes dart over to the newcomer and grin a little. This night just got a whole lot more interesting. This green-haired Irishman wearing a suit jacket over ripped jeans and  _ sunglasses inside _ (who does that?) just apparated out of nowhere.

Yeah, a WHOLE lot more interesting.

“Hey, stranger,” you greet him, trying to be smooth, and likely failing. “Any reason for the sunglasses inside at 10 at night? Channeling your inner Corey Hart?”

The Irishman seemed to miss a breath, and covers it up with a cough as he stirs his 

just-arrived drink. “Uh, well,” he stammers. “Just got laser-eye surgery, is all.”

Uh-huh. Suuuure. This guy is definitely high or something, you knew the drill. Oh well.

He takes a sip of his drink, and seems to have shaken off his uncomfortability. The widest smile you have ever seen on anyone’s face spreads along his, and was almost creepy due to not being able to see his eyes. “So,” he starts. “What brings such a pretty lass to such a swanky place?”

You are so taken aback by the sudden compliment that you forget that unnerving grin for a moment. You blush and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Stoner-guy has game.

“Well, uh--”

“Oh, my dear friend, you are FAR too forward!” 

A man in a shirt and tie has just slid into the chair on the left of you. He seems to be missing a suit jacket, just by looking at his torso.

You turn to face this conversation crasher, and end up gazing into the darkest eyes you have ever seen in your life, framed by a spilled inkwell of brown hair. They were less like eyes, more like two almond-shaped voids.

“What my friend was  _ trying  _ to say was that we know an even  _ better  _ joint, right up the street.” The suited man flashes you a smile. What a charmer. “Best homemade pasta in the city, and garlic bread to boot. Would you like to accompany us?”

You’re definitely bright red at this point. 

“Oh, no,” you stammer. “I don’t have too much money on me anyway, an--”

“That’s no issue at all, lass,” says the Irishman.

“Precisely,” confirms his friend. “If you would like to come to dinner with us, we can provide.” 

“Um.” You ponder your options. You did JUST meet these guys, and that’s like the first rule of going to a bar alone--don’t leave with strangers you met two minutes ago if you don’t have anyone with you to tell where you’re going. Your friend is long asleep right now, since she is the second presenter first thing in the morning. You would hate to wake her up so late.

Then again, these guys look nice, and you do love pasta.

“Please, miss,” implores the suited man. “We would love to be in the company of such a gorgeous woman for the evening.” And with that, he takes your right hand softly in his grasp and kisses the back of it. His flesh is ice-cold to the touch; he must have just been holding a cold drink or something.

“You won’t regret i̇iiiii̮̮͈ĩ̮̭̤it͓͚̗̍̿̑ͤ.̈ͧ̈́” The green-haired one draws out his last word and ends it with a sharp point, and you get shivers all down your spine. You could have sworn you just saw the classier gentleman shoot him a glare, and literally start to smoke around the edges. It was probably nothing.

Nonetheless. free dinner is free dinner. What could go wrong?

You give in, and they both take you by the arm and lead you out of the hotel. 

“We,” purrs the suited man. “Are going to have the most wonderful night with you, my dear.”

The Irishman nods, that unnerving Cheshire smile still stuck on his pale face. You feel his grasp disappear for a moment, as if he momentarily blinked out of existence. The taller man tightens his grip on your other arm, too tight; you’re pretty sure you’ll have a bruise.

This isn’t good.

You made a mistake.

You try to unsuspectingly slip out of their grasp, but they quickly catch this.

The brunette clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Oh, my dear,” he whispers seductively. “You made your decision. And we made ours.”

“Exactly!” quips the other. “And we are going to have SO much fun together.” He slowly slips off his sunglasses, and you catch a glimpse of a single, septic green eye before everything falls to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter does have a break in it (actually two sorry) but the important one is the perspective shift break (the second one). I wanted to go back to what **you** were doing because it seemed better to frame it that way, if that made sense.  
> I was listening to Jet’s Are You Gonna Be My Girl whilst typing this one, and I wanted to get some of that feel in the bar scene. I picture that song playing in the bar under the dialogue, so if you want, play it while reading! It’s a jam. I almost crashed my car once because I was dancing too hard to it while driving. Anyway, thanks for reading!! New chapter next week. Or maybe sooner, depending! <3  
> CHRONOLOGY SO FAR:  
> Chapter Two → Chapter One


End file.
